Knicks backcourt legend and all-around nightlife superstar Walt "Clyde" Frazier talks about pro-athlete style, then and now. Guess what? He's not such a big fan of now

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Over the past decade, the New York Knicks fan base (God bless 'em) have withstood Abrahamian tests of faith—nine losing seasons, Isiah Thomas, a lifetime's worth of entitled, dispiriting athletes. Through it all, Clyde Frazier, the legendary Knicks guard-turned-rhyming TV color man, has had a headset and a courtside seat. He's had to watch the parade of misery, and it's hard not to wonder if his mind ever drifts back to a time not so long ago when he ruled the hardwood, then showered, dressed and lit up NYC's social scene. In 1967, upon entering the NBA, Walt quickly earned his nickname, thanks to a new release, Bonnie and Clyde, and his affection for wide-brimmed fedoras. Soon after that, the nickname became a full-fledged persona: the 6-foot-4 fella with the muttonchops, mink coat, and the Rolls. Frazier was the epitome of cool. He endorsed a non-basketball shoe and partied with Broadway Joe. And while Willis Reed limped around the court, Clyde led New York to its last basketball title. "When I played I was in every magazine but GQ," he told us before a Knicks game earlier this season. "You guys never used me." Our bad. It took forty years, but we're finally correcting the mistake.

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Can you talk about what the vibe was like playing in the NBA in the 1970s?
It wasn't even like a dream come true, because I never could have fathomed what I ended up doing: winning in New York. But I think what epitomized that is, today, who has a nickname? The Glove? The Answer? We had the Pearl, Clyde, the Big O. Different nicknames that personified guys and their individual styles of play. The guys don't have style now. They all blend in, no one's standing out.

You earned your nickname off the court.
Right, it was my fashion. But on the court I used to steal the ball like Clyde robbing the banks.

What was the New York nightlife like back then?
It was wild, man. We used to hang out with Namath. All the guys were very close. I used to start on the East Side, on First Avenue, at Maxwell's Plum, and end up uptown, because in Harlem they went to four, five in the morning. When I look back on it, I've seen Miles Davis, I've seen all these great jazz guys. In Harlem you'd just walk from one club to the next. There was one night during the playoffs I was out late before a game, and Reed reprimanded me, he goes, Clyde, what are you doing? Get your butt to bed. You're messing with my money.

You were a part of the city's nightlife in a way that doesn't seem to happen now.
My car was synonymous with New York. It was part of the scene. Now the guys are in Westchester. They don't experience the city like I did, especially during the playoffs. You couldn't go anywhere without people asking you, What are you guys going to do, Clyde? We felt compelled to talk to the fans. That was part of the job. I'd go to the bar, buying drinks, accepting drinks. There were no venereal diseases; things were just loose, man. I don't recall seeing any fights, anywhere, anytime. Studio 54, you'd go in there, get impromptus from guys like Stevie Wonder, Teddy Pendergrass, all these guys might just hop on stage and start doing a number. It was a time of prosperity in the city, man, and we brought the city together, with the Vietnam War. We gave the people something positive to cheer about, and they could come to the Garden, forget about their woes, follow the Knicks, watch good basketball.

You've been critical of how current NBA players dress, especially before the dress code. Do you still feel that there's been a decline in taste?
I was happy when they implemented a dress code for the players, if only for a couple hours. You're professional and you should look professional. They have to realize they're role models. But the main part they don't realize is the image you project now is the one you're going to be remembered by. That's why we're talking about me. As Clyde, I was always dressed jazzy. I'm prospering from that today.

What are some of the biggest style lessons you've learned over the years?
Being in New York you can just be yourself. You don't have to follow the crowd. That's how I became Clyde. When I started wearing a wide-brimmed hat it wasn't in vogue. Everybody was wearing a narrow brim. When I first wore it, the guys laughed at me. So I stuck to my guns and two weeks later the movie Bonnie and Clyde came out. So that's how I became Clyde, for my tenacity in believing in wearing what I want to wear.

Who were the most stylish players of your era?
Dick Barnett. He was a tremendous dresser. He'd wear Sherlock Holmes hats. You'd see him with a cane and spats. He was eccentric. He used to have monograms on his shirts, which other guys did, like Willis. And I started copying where they made their suits and shoes. What set me apart was the hat, then the mink coat, and the Rolls-Royce. That was my evolution.

Who are the most stylish players nowadays?
Amar'e's good. He's more of a GQ guy, with the tight Italian style. Wade, LeBron. Kevin Garnett is very photogenic.

What elements of style transcend era?
It's your body. Nothing looks better than a tall guy in a suit. Basketball players, we're like runway models. I think it's the physique. Like women nowadays, they want to be thin, wear skinny clothes. But no matter how fashions change, it's the body. That's the appeal, looking good in your clothes.

So you're going for skinny ladies these days?
I don't like them too skinny. Being a southern guy, I like some healthy mommas. But you gotta go south to see those kind of women. In New York, in the north, women are slimmer, because they're more into working out, diet, exercise, than, say, in the south.

How did the city shape you?
I learned more by losing than I ever did from winning. This is a city where everybody loves a winner, but when you're losing, people vanish. It's just you.

What did you learn?
Learned how capricious life can be. When we were winning I never had to pick up a tab. For years. I never knew you had to pay to get into Studio 54. I just used to go there, and they'd open up. I used to go to P.J. Clarke's and the guy would say, Clyde, your money is no good here. And then, later on, when the Knicks were not as good, things changed. People aren't ringing your phone off the hook. It was a revelation.

I read somewhere that when you were a kid and played ball out on a dirt court, you used to come home and clean your shoes every night. Why did you do that? You'd just get them dirty the next day.
We didn't have a lot but what we had we had to keep clean, that was from my mother. And then my grandmother would be yelling at me. Get those smelly shoes outside, put them on the porch! It was also pride. Like when I came out with the Clyde for Puma, kids had a respect for it. I made it a fashion shoe.

Jordan said that if he played today he could score 100 points. How many could you put up?
I could probably average a triple-double, because when I played I averaged 20-6-6, but then it was hard to get an assist, it wasn't like today where a guy dribbles, then shoots, and they give him an assist. It had to lead directly to a basket.

When did that rule change?
When the game became entertainment.

So has Clyde changed with age?
Yeah, I was kind of an extremist. I liked to go out. Now, I'm an even-keeled guy. I rarely go to discos. The things I like to do now don't cost me money. A little walk in the park, a kiss after dark. I've mellowed with age.